The maid’s outfit made me itch. Too much starch. But if I was going to find out why my sister was murdered, I needed to take her position at the Motel.

“Ay Dios mío!” screamed a woman who had entered the maid’s changing closet. Her eyes were wide with fear as she breathed out. “I’ve seen a ghost!”

“Shh! Señora Lopéz!” her nametag glinted on the fluorescent lights, “I’m her sister. Please! Calm down! I don’t want anyone to know,” I begged.

She took a deep breath. “Sister? You are her twin.”

“Yes. And I want to know who killed my sister, so I came here to be her. Management will never know; they can’t tell one Hispanic maid from another.”

The woman sighed and shook her head. “You don’t want to know. Marena walked in on something she shouldn’t have seen.”

“So, did she tell you?”

“No. I value my life! And if you value yours, take off that uniform and go bury your sister.”

“How do you know she saw something? She wasn’t killed here. She was murdered in her home. Someone followed her.”